


Sourness of Vomit, Bitterness of Blood

by Whattfisausername



Series: (Mostly Angst) Lams One-Shots [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alex and John deserve better, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety, Blood, Blood and Injury, Character Death, Crying, Depressed Alexander, Depressing, Depression, Emotional pain, Established Relationship, Gunshot Wounds, Heavy Angst, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, I'm Sorry Lin-Manuel Miranda, I'm an evil writer I know, M/M, Pain, Suicide, Suicide Notes, Vomiting, borderline misery porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26563354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whattfisausername/pseuds/Whattfisausername
Summary: John knows somethings wrong with Alex, and it's stressing him out. Will he figure it out in time, or will he be left to deal with the sourness of vomit and bitterness of blood. Originally posted here (https://www.wattpad.com/story/231885861-mostly-angst-lams-one-shots) on Wattpad, but has since been edited.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Series: (Mostly Angst) Lams One-Shots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931032
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	Sourness of Vomit, Bitterness of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> TW: Suicide, blood, and vomit.

“Alex, I’m headed to work love,” John called to his husband. Alex shot up from the couch and ran over to him, pulling him into a tight embrace and nearly knocking him off his feet.

“I love you, John. So, so, so much. Even I don’t have the words to describe adequately just how much you mean to me. No amount of flowery prose, nor metaphors, nor number of declarations of love can fully encapsulate my affections towards you,” said Alex, his voice shaky, his eyes glossy.

“Alex, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Why do you ask?”

“Because you only talk like that when you get emotional. Are you feeling alright? Do you want me to stay at home?”

“I’m fine, John, I promise,” he said, leaning down to kiss him. John kissed back, resting one hand on Alex’s cheek. After a moment, Alex pulled away.

“You should go or you’re going to be late.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” John said, laughing.

“Oh, one more thing, after work can you go to the store and pick up some more eggs and milk?”

“Will do! Love you!”

“Love you too!” Alex waited until he heard the door shut.

“I’m sorry.”

Despite Alex’s reassurance, John couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t okay. No matter what he told himself, no matter what excuse Alex could give, his actions that morning seemed off. John’s paranoia only grew as time passed, and by lunch, he was sick to his stomach with nerves and asked to leave work early, which they granted him.

“I’ll just call Alex,” he thought. “That should calm my nerves.” He sat down on a bench, pulled out his phone, and waited for Alex to pick up. He listened to the phone ring as he tried his best to control his breathing. He waited and waited and waited, his anxiety growing with every noise. After 10 minutes Alex still hadn’t picked up, and John swore he was about to puke on the side of the road. His heart raced, and his breathing became more erratic. “He must be busy at work,” John reasoned with himself. “I’ll stop by his office.”

John speed walked to the building where Alex worked. In a clearer state of mind, he would have gotten a taxi, but panic clouded his judgment. The half-hour walk/jog exhausted John. He dragged his sore legs up to the desk lady, struggling to catch his breath.

“Excuse me, could you please page Mr. Hamilton for me?”

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mr. Hamilton hasn’t shown up today. We don’t know where he is. We haven’t gotten a call, or text message, or anything. We even tried to call his husband. Did you have anything scheduled?”

John paused, taken aback. “I-wait. That makes no sense! He’s not sick, and even if he was, he would have called or asked me too. And I never got a call from you.”

“Oh, so you’re John! I’m sorry, sir. I wish I could tell you where he was. If he shows up, do you want me to tell him you were here?”

“Please. Thank you.” He said before leaving. He sat back down on a bench, trying to process everything.

“Alex would never not show up to work without a call. That doesn’t sound like Alex at all!” John could taste the bile in the back of his throat, but swallowed it down and tried once again to regain control of his breathing. His hands had begun to shake too.

With nothing better to do, John decided to pick up the groceries and then go home. He chose again to walk, hoping that it might help him relax, though unfortunately, the short walk did nothing of the sort. He speed-walked through the store, avoiding looking at people so they wouldn’t see how much of a wreck he was as he grabbed a carton of eggs and a carton of milk, got in line, paid, and left in rapid succession.

“I hope just the one of each is enough.” That’s when a thought hit him, a pebble before a landslide. Alex asked him to pick up milk and eggs, which they already had plenty of. Why would he do that unless he was just trying to get John out of the house? Combined with how Alex was acting earlier, him not answering his phone, and not showing up to work, John had a terrible thought. “Alex is going to try to kill himself again.” He ran over to the nearest trash can and this time, he puked for real.

John hailed a taxi, tears streaming down his face. He climbed in, gave the driver his address, and begged them to hurry.

“Please don’t be dead, Alex. Please don’t be dead, Alex. Please don’t be dead, Alex,” he said to himself. This wouldn’t be the first time Alex had tried to commit suicide. John still remembered it vividly. Seeing Alex lying against the wall, barely conscious, with a bottle of pills in his hands, screaming at Alex to stay awake, Alex’s stiff, icy hand that he held in the hospital as he fought for his life. He survived, but that night had traumatized John.

The ride passed in a blur, though that may only have been from John’s tears. The second the vehicle pulled up to the apartment complex, John threw money at the driver and scrambled out. He burst through the door and flew through the entrance to the elevator. Mercifully, the door opened immediately for John, sparing him a panic-filled wait.

He paced inside the elevator, hoping no one joined him, hoping he was not too late. Apart from their friends, Alex and John were each other’s only family. John couldn’t bear the thought of losing his family.

The elevator door hadn’t even fully opened before John ran out of it. He sped down the hall, narrowly dodging one of his neighbours before reaching his apartment. He pulled out his keys and fiddled with the door lock.

“Come on! Not now!” He screamed at the door. He finally opened the door and burst into the apartment.

“Alex! Are you here?” He paused and gagged at the metallic bloody smell.

“Wait, blood? ALEX!” He raced through the apartment, following the smell of blood. He finally reached the bathroom where he froze in shock. His body shook with throaty sobs as he fell to his knees.

There was Alex, lying on the bathroom floor, in a massive pool of blood, a matching red stain on his shirt over his heart, his jaw hanging open, his eyes a cloudy ice blue, and a gun lying nearby. John’s worst nightmare had become his waking terror. His husband, his beloved Alexander, had shot and killed himself in their own home. He crawled over to his body, not caring that the blood was staining his clothes. He pulled Alex into his arms as he sobbed.

“Alexander, my Alexander. Why would you do this?” He could taste the salt of his tears, the sourness from throwing up, and the bitterness of the blood in the air. He wanted to scream, not at anyone or anything, he just wanted to scream, but his voice got trapped in his throat. He gasped for air, but he couldn’t get a decent breath. The room spun faster and faster as John held Alex tighter. He closed his eyes as if trying to wake up from a nightmare.

Once he calmed down enough to breathe properly, he looked back down at Alex, gazing into his lifeless eyes. With a shaky hand, he carefully closed his eyes and mouth. Even then, he still looked very, dead. Not a tint of colour in his face, not an ounce of emotion in his expression. He almost looked fake.

“I’m sorry, Alex. I should have realized earlier. I should have seen the signs. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He pressed his forehead to Alex’s, feeling his inhumanly cold skin.

It was then he noticed a piece of paper sticking out of his pocket. He gently grabbed it and read the name on the outside, “John Hamilton”. He sat back down and slowly opened the letter.

_My dearest, John_

_I’m sorry to leave you like this. I’ve tried to ignore the pain, ignore the voices in my head, focus on you, but I can’t anymore. I’m tired of being in constant emotional anguish. Like a cancer patient who after years of fighting stops treatment, I have decided to let go. It was not a decision I made lightly, and one I beg of you not to make after me. I can’t stand to be in this agony, neither can I stand dragging you and everyone around us down with me. Death is the only way out of this mess. I wish there was another way. I wish if only for your sake that I didn’t have to die. But I can’t go on._

_Please don’t blame yourself for my death. You did nothing wrong, my love. You have been the best husband anyone could ask for. You were my single ray of sunshine peeking through the storm clouds. My soft pillow on a bed of rocks. The eye of my hurricane. However, a single candle, no matter how bright, is not enough to light an entire house. A glimpse of reality is not enough to save a man from madness. A few moments of comedy don’t stop a horror movie from being a horror movie. You couldn’t save me from my depression, nothing could. Besides, that wasn’t your responsibility. Thank you for trying to help me. Your efforts were not in vain. I’m glad I have at least a few cheerful moments to flashback too as I die._

_I hope that you’re able to move on without me. I hope now you can live your life without me dragging you down. You won’t have to worry about me anymore. We’re both free. I know I’ve made you miserable, though you hid your own pains well. I’ve always envied you in that regard. I know you’ve cried, hoping that I would get better. I know you’ve puked from stress thinking I was going to off myself. Now those thoughts will stop weighing you down. We can both be at peace. Please go on with your life, my dear. I take great comfort knowing that when I’m gone, you’ll be able to smile again._

_I love you and will always love you. Goodbye._

_Yours forever,_

_A. Hamilton_

John sobbed harder as he read the letter, his tears soaking into the paper and causing the ink to bleed. He hugged the page close to his heart, the last written words of a man he thought would never stop writing. The finale of a long series of love letter’s throughout the course of their life together.

He re-read the note again and again. He read it as he called the police. He read in the back of Eliza’s car after she kindly allowed him to stay at her place. He read it at the funeral. He read it as he held a bottle of poison, contemplating following in Alexander’s footsteps. He read it to remind himself that Alex would want him to move on and live a long, fulfilling life. He read it in his room in the hospice, smiling as Alex waited patiently in the corner to take him away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank for reading! Be sure to leave a comment and kudos!


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